


Köszönöm

by TuppingLiberty



Series: With Love in Mind [9]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Condoms, First Meetings, First Scene, First Time, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safer Sex, Safewords, Spanking, Two boys in love but they don't know it yet, ass worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 16:06:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Köszönöm = Hungarian for "thank you"Clark Zendejas is used to being mistaken for a sub, but enjoys the other side. He's worried that the man who just walked in will only see him that way, but that man - Istvan Farkas - has other plans.Clark and Istvan are part of the With Love in Mind universe, but you don't need to have read the others for this. This is Clark and Istvan's origin story!Day 1 of Kinktober: Ass worship, spanking





	Köszönöm

**Author's Note:**

> I figure I'm just going to post kinktober fics as I finish them, and then I might actually finish in October. We'll see, lol.

The man is beautiful, that much is obvious, even from across the diner. He’s the center of the entire table’s attention, throwing back his head in a throaty laugh that makes others - not just Clark Zendejas - look over and smile. He’s got sharp features, cheekbones defining his face, eyes - an indeterminate color from this far, much to Clark’s dismay - made wider with makeup. His light brown hair flows over his shoulder and down his back - nice, broad shoulders, Clark notes. Everything about him is broad. Built, but soft. He sort of looks like he just rolled in from Pride, despite the cold December weather - a rainbow, sequined tube top showing underneath a pair of obscenely short white overalls, the brightness of which makes his skin look all the more rosy pink. He can’t see them now, but Clark knows that under the table, down those miles of gorgeous leg, his feet are slipped into a pair of staggering white heels. Clarks knows this because he - along with every other interested person - had stared earlier as the man had walked into the munch. He had known to make an entrance. Clark remembers the way his calf muscles flexed in the heels as he greeted someone at the table he is currently sitting at with a kiss on the cheek. And his ass-

“Clark. Dude. Earth to Clark.” Beside him, his friend Alan looks amused. He arches a brow. “Have you met István yet?” 

_ István. _ A name to go with the amazing...everything. 

Clark clears his throat and shakes his head, pretending to be extremely interested in the straw for his soda. “No, I haven’t.” He deliberately turns away from the table, though he hears István’s loud, wonderful laugh once again as he does. “Weren’t you going to set up a scene?” 

“All negotiated. Peter and his boyfriend had to leave early, though. But he and I are set for tomorrow night. Weren’t you going to…?”

Clark shrugs, taking a sip of cola. “Not really feeling it this week.” 

Alan’s eyebrows rise. “Okay.” He pulls out his phone, checks something or other. 

He likes that about Alan. They’ve been friends since college, in the scene together nearly as long, and Alan has always been easy-going.

“But it would be really easy to just-”

“Alan, drop it, okay?” What had Clark been saying about Alan? Easy-going? Sure. But also, a mother hen. Probably why he makes such a good, caring Dom. 

There’s no fucking way Clark stands a chance with the being of immortal magnificance that is István.  _ István.  _ Even his name seems exotic. 

He couldn’t hear István’s laughter behind him anymore. Probably for the best. He hadn’t been this instantaneously attracted to someone since...a long time ago, and that hadn’t exactly worked out in his favor. Better to not lose his head. Better not to play with the fire that is the mysterious István. 

“Dropped. Also, I suddenly need to visit the restroom.” Alan hops off the stool, rushing away from the diner counter with Clark wondering exactly what the hell is happening tonight. 

He realizes, of course, a second later, that he’s been set up. 

The man - or possibly fae creature - known as István is perched on the stool beside him, having sneaked up on him while he’d been distracted by Alan. “You should buy me a drink,” István purrs, with more than a hint of some accent - something European. 

His legs are crossed toward Clark, just acres of long, smooth, creamy legs Clark wants to run his hands over. He flicks his hair over his shoulder, his entire attention on Clark. 

Clark feels equal parts worried and intrigued. On the one hand, István is even more amazing up close than far away. On the other hand, he has a feeling István came over here looking for a sub. Because of his short, slight stature, Clark gets mistaken for a sub a lot. Not that a sub is a bad thing to be, it’s just not a  _ Clark _ thing to be. But while he and Alan had basically gotten into the scene together in college, Alan had had  _ way _ more play partners over the years. He’s basically a lumberjack, subs practically fall at his feet. 

Clark frowns, annoyed at his own negative thoughts. Alan doesn’t deserve it at all. It’s not his fault that people look at him and think “sir.” Anymore than it’s Clark’s fault that they  _ don’t _ look at him and think that. He squares his shoulders toward István, determined to play this out, whatever it ended up being.

“You don’t want any of the beer this place is serving, believe me.” 

Though István’s lips don’t lift, Clark can see the smile in his eyes - blue, he can see now. They sparkle with mirth. “Then you should buy me...the chili cheese fries.” 

Clark laughs, disarmed, his own body angling more toward István, an invitation. Their knees brush, and István’s cheeks go rosy. “I’d love to, but-” István pouts. It has no right being as gorgeous as it is. Still, Clark hedges his bets. He doesn’t want to be too disappointed when their kinks don’t line up. “-I’m not the play partner you’re looking for.” 

“Really? Because from where I’m sitting you look exactly like the play partner I want.” István’s blatant look makes Clark blush. 

“I’m a Dom,” Clark says plainly, trying not to sound apologetic, and failing. “Sorry.” 

István pulls Clark’s cola over, takes a drink, and wrinkles his nose, calling at the counter waitress to bring him a Sprite. “What’re you sorry for? I’m István, by the way.” He holds out a hand, his nails painted in rainbows, too. 

_ God, every tip of him is appealing. _

“Clark.” He takes István’s hand automatically, feels the warmth, lets himself drop it. “I’m sure you were expecting me to sub,” he replies with a shrug. 

“What, because of size?” Once again, István leans back, his look appraising - and liking what he sees. His fingers slip over the fabric of Clark’s pants, and he looks down, and then up, an inquiry.  _ Can I? Can I touch you? _ Clark nods. “Seems to me,” István whispers, his fingers caressing Clark’s leg. He leans in to say the last part in Clark’s ear, “-That it doesn’t matter what size you are if you can make me call you ‘sir.’”

Clark is suddenly, achingly hard, his heart leaping in his chest at the thought that something might happen after all.

“A proper Dom, one who knows just how to push my buttons, he wouldn’t need to be big. He’d just need to be a good fucking Dom, know what I mean?” 

“What’s your flavor?” Clark’s fingers reach out for the creamy expanse of exposed skin on István’s leg, surging forward when István gives a little nod of his own. It’s just as smooth, as soft and strong as Clark though it would be, and he lets his fingers run up under the hem of the overall shorts, his brown skin a dark contrast to the light. He can feel goosebumps rise on István’s skin, and marvels at how responsive the man is. 

“Impact. Breathplay - nothing with rope, but hands, dicks, other things we can negotiate.” István gives him a curve of a smile. “Bondage, but yes with rope. Being used like the cum-slut I am. Like I’m just a hole for you. What’s yours?”

“Impact,” Clark agrees. “Breaking my sub until he’s sobbing with pleasure and pain and I’m the center of his world.” 

István lets out a happy sigh, the breath hot on Clark’s ear because they’re still wrapped up in each other. “Look at that. Some agreement.” 

“Want to play with me tomorrow night? I want to get my hands on that ass, spank it, turn it red.” 

István’s breath hitches. “Fuck it?” 

“If I want.” 

When he pulls back, István’s eyes are dark with lust. “Just know, sir, I’m available for your use. If you want.” 

Clark’s hand slips around, in the gap of the overalls, to rest on István’s back, pulling him closer. “What made you come over here and pick me?”

He hadn’t meant to ask the question, and the moment he says it, he sort of dreads the answer. Even when he establishes that he’s a Dom, not a switch, definitely not a sub, then he gets all sorts of answers, the most annoying being that they expect some sort of Latin Lover stereotype. 

István smiles, and Clark realizes it’s self-deprecating after a moment. “I get a lot of reactions when I walk into a room, believe me. Rarely does someone look at me the way you did though. Like...not just eyefucking? I don’t know. I had a feeling. My great aunt Anna would tell me to lean in to the feeling, and nagymama always listened to her, so…” István pauses, as if that explains anything. 

“Well...I guess, thank you great aunt Anna?” 

István presses a kiss to his cheek, which warms under István’s lips. “Köszönöm. Thank you, in Hungarian. I don’t remember a whole lot, but a little köszönöm goes a long way at family get togethers.” 

Clark laughs, finding himself relaxing around István in a way he hardly ever does at these things. Sure, he likes the kink scene and he always takes pleasure in it, but it’s always intense. Even the last few minutes with István, he thinks it could be...fun. 

Clark turns, calling the waitress over for that order of the chili-cheese fries. Watching István’s eyes light up with pleasure is amazing. 

They’re in a back space at the yoga studio-cum-kink club, one of the darker back corners where less public displays take place. Clark’s not expecting any audience, except the dungeon monitor checking in on them every once and awhile. 

Even without his heels - István’s barefoot, now - he still stands inches above Clark’s own 5’9”. Several inches. A lot of inches. Clark shakes off the anticipation of having to get over the size difference in order to bring István pleasure, and rubs his hands over István’s bare arms, warming him up. “What safeword system do you like?” 

“Traffic lights?” István says, his voice quieter, just for Clark. Clark’s heart kicks up a little at the show of submission, the way István curls into him as he rubs him down, the way he looks to Clark to guide him. 

“Traffic lights are perfect. Green means go, yellow means slow, red means stop?” Clark double checks, and István nods. “Perfect. And if I decide I want to, you’re okay with protected penetration?”

“Yes. You can fuck me, use a condom,” István translates with a grin. 

He continues running his hands over István, warming him, getting his blood moving. István’s shirtless, his broad, built, soft body bared for Clark’s ministrations, a pair of purple yoga pants slung low on his waist. His body is insanely attractive to Clark - maybe because he knows, just a little, the big, amazing personality this body houses. His hands scoop down, lingering over István’s round ass. 

“Those heels are doing your body good, Isti,” he murmurs, the nickname slipping out. István looks pleased with it, though, and with him, blushing prettily at the compliment. “I bet you look fucking fantastic in a jock.” He sighs, happily. “I’m going to enjoy this ass.”

István squirms in his arms, obviously ready to get on with things, but Clark’s always enjoyed a slow build up.  _ “Sirrr-”  _ István whines. 

Clark grabs the meat of István’s ass and squeezes. “None of that, brat. You’ll take what I give. You hear me?” 

“Yes, sir,” István answers, breathless, color high on his cheeks. 

“Get on the bench.” He taps István’s ass as István walks toward the spanking bench, just to watch it jiggle. 

“Just my hand this time, okay? We’ll see what we like. Color?”

As István squirms to settle onto the bench, he nods. “Green.” 

Clark tiptoes his fingers down István’s bare spine, watching as goosebumps rise all over István’s back. “Count for me, Isti.”

He palms over one cheek lovingly, warming it.  _ It truly is a superior ass, _ he thinks as he brings his hand down for the first time. 

István lets out a little gasp, and mumbles, “One.” 

“Good boy.” He slaps again, the other cheek this time, the sound dulled by the yoga pants. 

“Two-” 

Two becomes three, and four, and five, then six and seven given in quick succession. Clark loves the power of this position. And like, look, he doesn’t need to visit a therapist to understand that he probably has a bit of a Napoleon complex, okay, but the thing about that is that Napoleon wasn’t even a short man, he was average for his day, tall even! But anway, he gets that he feels powerless in his stupid pencil pushing job and he feels powerless daily because every man he’s ever been attracted to  _ literally _ looks down on him, and so it all makes sense that when he got into kink, he’d been drawn to the dominant position.

But with István looking back at him, his eyes a little teary, but full of trust, he knows exactly why he loves this position. It’s not the power, no, István has all the power here, really. It’s that, when it’s good, like it is here and now, with István - he hopes he gets to play with István again - he feels powerful because he has the trust of another entire human being with their own wants and desires. That human trusts  _ him, _ of all people. 

It’s the most powerful feeling in the world, Clark thinks. Not the hitting. Not the power in his arm. The trust in István’s eyes that he won’t fuck up. That he has control. That he’s a good man, and a good lover, and a good Dom, all wrapped up into one. 

It’s fucking heady, a better high than Clark has ever found an alternative to. 

When he peels István’s yoga pants down, the man’s ass is bright pink and lovely with his slaps. He rubs a hand over each cheek, watching István shudder at the sting. The next color check comes back green, so Clark palms István’s ass and prepares. “Five more, Isti. Five more, and then I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.”

István mumbles something directly into the bench. 

Clark pauses everything. “What was that?” he asks, waiting for a safeword. 

István turns his face again so Clark can hear him better. “Already have, sir.” 

His voice is slurred with pleasure, with the floatiness of subspace. That trust pounds through Clark again. “Even better, then. Count for me. Five left.” 

When István is shuddering through the aftermath of the fifth slap, his cheeks even redder, Clark pulls back, still talking to István the whole time, finding the lube and a condom. István squirms against the table, trying to get stimulation on his cock, but Clark stills him with a single touch. 

“You’re coming on my cock, not before, sweetheart.”

He waits until István agrees frantically. 

The first lubed finger slips in like butter. István must do this a lot. Maybe he wears a plug for long periods of time. Clark’s stomach clenches in sudden want, his dick pressing against the comfy lounge pants he’d put on for the scene. Praise keeps slipping out of his lips unbidden, but he means every word of it, and every word seems to send István deeper, anyway. Two fingers is a bit more of a stretch, but István takes it so well, Clark moves up to three quickly. 

Every second stroke and stretch of his fingers, István starts to push backwards, to try and press Clark’s fingers against his prostate, but then he catches himself and comes back, whimpering and whining, frustrated. Each time he does it, it sends Clark to new heights, the feeling of power and control wrapping him up like a warm blanket. 

Sliding into István, even with the condom, is warm and wet and heaven. When he bottoms out, Clark just stays there for a second, looking up at the ceiling, trying to pull himself back from the edge of orgasm, then looking down at the beautiful body laid bare before him, the beautiful soul laid bare as well. With a grunt, he leans over, kissing along István’s sweaty spine as he starts to fuck into him rapidly. 

István’s fingers clutch at the bench and after a few seconds, he bites down on the edge, trying not to scream out his pleasure in the yoga studio. The image of István’s lips spread obscenely around a ball gag flits through Clark’s brain. 

He  _ really _ hopes he gets to play with István again. 

He curls his fingers in István’s hair, using it as leverage - pulling, but not pulling too hard - to fuck him harder. 

With a choked sob, István spills over the bench, clenching his hole tight all around Clark’s cock. Groaning, Clark lets himself succumb to the orgasm. They lay like that for a moment, breathing together, but eventually Clark pulls himself away, tying off and throwing away the condom before wrapping István’s still shaking body in a warm blanket. 

He makes quick work of clean up so he can whisk István away to the aftercare area. Luckily, the larger man can walk, if a bit unsteadily, on his own two feet, with Clark guiding him. Once he has István down on the cushions, Clark warms ointment in his hands and carefully works it into István's red skin. István grumbles, cuddling into the blanket further. It's impossibly endearing. Unable to resist, Clark presses a kiss to the back of his neck. 

István, it turns out, is a talker when he comes out of subspace, something Clark hasn't experienced before. Now that he has, though, he finds that just as adorable. It's not exactly easy to keep up with the random twists and turns István's brain seems to take, but Clark has fun trying to follow. 

“We should do more,” István says after a little while. “Give me your phone?” 

It takes Clarks a minute, fumbling through his bag, but he finally finds it and hands it over. István’s fingers are quick over the keyboard, sending himself a text and then adding himself as a contact, first name István, last name ;) ;) ;).

Clark accepts the phone back, then laughs when he sees that the text István sent himself is “hey hottie.”

István smiles up at him, the goofball. 

“What're you doing next Friday?” Clark asks, totally unexpectedly. 

The smile turns into a grin, and István pulls Clark down to whisper all of his fantasies. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, thank you!


End file.
